


A Ballad of Blood, Battle and Broken Men

by RamaSenju



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Politics, Shinobi, War, Warring States Period (Naruto)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamaSenju/pseuds/RamaSenju
Summary: Generations before Konoha, the world is an orgy of blood and battle. Clans lust for power and riches in an age of treachery and war. Until they don't. Hashirama Senju and Madara Uchiha would change that.But what led to the Warring States? What about the minor shinobi clans, their past unknown? An unforgettable journey awaits the many who contend to survive in the Era of Blood.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue -- Legacy of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi, I'm Al. Call me Rama. You're reading this because it's important.  
> This is my first work original work based on Naruto, as I've never had the courage before now to actually publish the ideas running through my mind. Before you mention it, I know, I know. It's short. I'm an underwriter, but I'm hoping that will change as I publish more. The idea is the novel is set during the Warring States Era, but I wanted to focus on the smaller clans and other aspects to the Era of Blood. Anyways, I'm waffling now. It's a little flowery and might be underwhelming, but I seriously hope you enjoy the time spent reading my little work.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here, now would I? Kishimoto runs all things Naruto/Boruto. All I've done is taken the concept of the Narutoverse and tried to sprinkle my original flare onto it. Also, if you enjoy reading hundreds of fanfics from the guys manga, give him some pennies as appreciation. He deserves it.

* * *

**PROLOGUE -- LEGACY OF FIRE**

* * *

Even the sky wept. Streaming tears pouring from ashen clouds, to match the men and women within the grand temple walls. The pattering against the windowpane was incessant; the outside world smeared with rainfall. An outside world enveloped by grief. A howling gale barged against trees that swayed left to right. Even the grassy fields, stretching over rolling hills for miles to see were dull. A dark mossy green instead of the vibrant emerald that usually coloured the Land of Fire.

But what of those hundreds that were inside the temple, victims to worse than abhorrent weather? What did they see to make them weep?

The scene inside was much worse, in truth.

Circling around an ornate throne of sturdy oak there were many who found it hard to staunch the flow of tears. Heads hung low. It was too hard to meet the gaze of the man they had considered a father. They were not likely brothers and sisters, but they considered theirs a relationship stronger than any blood ties. The love they shared was one of faith. Hailing from the rolling hills, lush valleys and jade plains of the Land of Fire. Raised under the oppressive heat of lands subject to constant sandstorms amidst thousands of miles of sand dunes, in the Land of Wind. Even as high and far to the north, where storms ruled in that elevated plane that gave the Land of Lightning its name. There was not a man or woman from all the known lands not present. A smattering of tongues, cultures and histories present before their father. The man they praised as a God.

For who could bring these disparate people together but the Sage of Six Paths. Reclining in the aforementioned throne, he did not take note of the silent weeping, sniffles of pain and pleading looks of the many around him. Instead, he smiled. Young Ashura could not help but cry out.

"Father, it is not time. Not yet. How can you leave a world that has so much yet to learn? The powers of Ninshū, the Will of Fire, you are a master of both. Please, father. Do not give in to death; do not let it claim you."

The soul present in the room who did not stir or feel a pang in his heart at the desperate pleading of a son had no emotion. There was not anyone inside who did not feel the emotion in the boy's quaking voice. A wind whipped outside and the gale roared once more. It was the Sage who silenced his son, still smiling.

"You are still the fool after all these years, Ashura?" the Sage said. "Whatever I have taught you, there is nothing more that I professed than living life to the greatest we can. Have I not done so? I have travelled the world spreading the power of Ninshū, giving the power of chakra to humankind, as my mother had forbidden me. A gift. But death meets every door; it is the fool who believes otherwise."

Ashura stepped back. Not expecting the harshness of his father's tone, it caught him off guard and he stood mute in shame. Another disciple took up the boy's cry.

"Surely, Sage, you are a God. You can bend the very winds to your will, why can you not stay with us but a little longer. Death has no power over you."

The Sage turned to look towards the fields. "If I was so powerful, do you think I want such weather on a day like this? There are tears enough to drown the Land of Water," he shook his head. "No. My time with death is soon coming, it is a fact that I cannot escape. Though you sing my praises, I am flesh and blood like any other. I have used my power to improve the world as best as I could, like my mother should have… my mother," the Sage turned to the.

"I still live with regret for me and my brother's actions. Though it was for the good of the world, we banished the mother whom I dearly loved. My son… he wanders the world with anger in his heart, running where I cannot find him. Where I cannot save him. What is power if I cannot unite my family-"

A sudden fit of coughing seized him. He clasped his throat; the disciples came around him as he spurted flecks of blood. He motioned them back with his hand, wiping it with the back of his hand. It was painful to see him like this. A man as mighty as the Sage.

All the world had been influenced by his knowledge, his chakra was insurmountable and the elements bowed to his will. The imperial wealth He was born with, He shared with his new disciples. He travelled miles on foot placing his palm on the heads of a new family he had created. Giving the first of humankind the power of chakra. Now, an unknown illness claimed him as he grew; his skin like milk weathered to a dull grey, and his piercing eyes, bright like wet sapphires were a dim grey. Silence loomed after his solemn speech; the Sage of Six Paths broke the spell.

"There is much I would like to do, but cannot. My body tires frequently, I cannot walk as I once did. And my time is due. Perhaps I have a year, two years more, but the Gods cannot rescind death. In many ways, it is a gift to reunite with the dead we held dear. It is the natural way. Besides, have I not taught you all that I shall come again in the guise of another? Have I not preached that we shall all live on through our children that practise the power of Ninshū? Fear not, we will see the sun, the stars, the moon once more. As long as our memory lingers through generations, how can we truly die? Ashura, come here."

Ashura did as he was told in white robes emblazoned with black tomoe. As a youth, hairless and happier, he played at father's feet with his brother Indra. Now as a man, sharp-featured with a tuft of hair on his chin, he knelt with deference. Looking up to his father, he raised his hands to be wrapped in the Sage's.

"I did not make you my heir because you are my eldest, strongest or most determined son. The Gods know you are not the smartest," he cackled, "I chose you because you embody something Indra never could, much to my chagrin. You have the Will of Fire. You have the power to spread Ninshū for good. Time passes and I will be gone soon. I know I cannot give chakra to everyone in the world, but there is nothing I wish to do more. Which is why I must give my life instead. Do not remember my final act as selfish, remember the gift I gave. Do you understand? Tell me you understand, so I may walk to the other side with a smile."

"I understand, father."

"Thank you. Thank you all, disciples. I know my power is in good hands."

The Sage closed his eyes, opened them again. He rose slowly as his old body could take him and began to walk. Slowly, the others followed. The windows were clanging and the gale was singing louder as they neared the outside. The only thing separating them were two grand oaken doors.

Once outside they were in the rain. It hammered down and the wind blew heavily, flapping their robes. The Sage raised his hands smiling. He basked in nature, where he always felt at home. He turned to his followers. There must have been hundreds, standing in the pouring rain looking with sadness.

He just smiled.

"Now I leave all my teachings and my powers to you. Go back to your homes do not let Ninshū die. Children from the Land of Wind to the Land of Whirlpools will grow knowing their powers. I will give the world my gift; it is up to my disciples to teach them how to use it. Ninshū is a force for good; it is our choices that determine how it will be used for the world. This is my final wish."

Eyes closed, the Sage of Six Paths was completely still. He sat on the ground, legs crossed arms folded together. His robes flew and soaked to His skin. No one made any noise any more. The sound of rain clashing with the ground was all that could be heard, the disciples were focused and watching the Sage. His flesh brightened, light grey, then the milk-white of his youth. His robes flapped violently, almost flying away. Then, just like that, the Sage was fading. His skin went translucent then a flash of bright light stole their sight. When the followers of the Sage opened their eyes, there was nothing. Not a sign of the Sage was left, just an empty space of grass where the Sage should have been. Yet the grass where he stood shone brighter. The people pointed to the skies, where the thick mass of clouds loomed, but now there were rays of sun gleaming. The sky became a clear and bright blue canvas. Foliage and streams surrounding the area lit like burnished steel.

Then, they fell.

Hundreds, thousands possibly more. Wisps of light, bright and purple; when they fell on the people, they all felt strong, reinvigorated with the power of the Sage. Their sorrows were swept away. Was this what He meant? His final gift, the power of Chakra given to man as a force for good.

The rain was gone but the ground was still soft. It was perfect for a grave. Inside were only robes, but that did not matter. It was the symbolistic meaning that would carry on. The legacy of the Sage. The disciples remained in the temple after the day turned to night. For days, they were working together under the lead of the new master of the Will of Fire, Ōtsutsuki Ashura. The monument was just beyond the temple of His last day, on a hill overlooking the large columned structure. Raised fifty feet high, carved from the stone the disciples raised using their earth-style was the visible legacy they would leave. In the Sage's likeness, it stood casting a looming shadow tens of feet wide. In his hand were scrolls with the many first jutsu made by the Sage, whilst his other hand showed his hand raised, index and middle finger raised in the likeness of a jutsu casting. They designed the robes like the ones he travelled with and preached with, black tomoe lining his chest. Now light shone where they stood, the blades a piercing jade. The visible memory of the Sage of Six Paths would be present to the generations that would follow, the generations that would inherit the power born from sacrifice.

And the world would be greater for it.


	2. Hakuro I

* * *

**HAKURO I**

* * *

The morning dawned light and clear with a warmth that hinted at the dawn of summer. They set forth at sunrise with news of a bloody capture, Hakuro amongst them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he was deemed old enough to go with his sensei on a mission. To see a killing. It was the ninth year of Hakuro’s life and almost two centuries of sporadic war. 

The man was captured as he fled. Kirima said he was a spy shinobi, his loyalty to Sasuke Sarutobi and his clansmen. Hakuro looked down. Bound, bloody and gagged he did not look much of a warrior. He was thin to the bone with drawn weary features and hollows in his cheeks. His black tunic was caked with dirt and blood. It was very different from the mighty Sarutobi, masters of ash and fire, from the tales Kirima would speak of during nights by the fire. They were reputed to use their smoke to sneak into homes and capture children, murder babes in their cradles and conspire in sinister pacts. Unspeakable evils performed with the accursed Indra. 

Danma Sensei stood over the haggard Sarutobi with a face that was iron. Weathered by age and war, his features were rough-hewn. His brown hair was streaked with grey, giving him an air of wisdom; a white scar ran down his face, giving him a sense of dread. He removed the cloth wrapped around his victim's mouth. The man was lurched up against a tree, a kunai pressed against his throat. His breaths came in terse anxious bursts, like he was too scared to breathe. Hakuro stood beside his sister trying to look he he’d seen it all. Like he was accustomed to the suffering. The man’s screams were muted by a punch to the windpipe. Hakuro winced and looked up. 

“No, don’t you look away,” his sister whispered fiercely; her smooth features were still. “Danma will know.” She gave his hand a squeeze and released. “You are old enough now. Be brave, Kuro.” 

Hakuro gulped and looked on. The bound man had tears in his eyes and his voice shook. 

“I will tell you everything… just keep me alive. I promise, all my knowledge is yours.” 

Danma knelt down until his face was an inch away from his captor. “The Sarutobi have settled nearby. We have scouted a huge encampment just north of here, a mile away from our own. Just what the hell are you doing here, apart from breaking our treaty?” 

“Lord Sasuke, he-he has a new wife. An Uchiha, I think. A retinue of her clansmen came with her. There was talk of an alliance, but it’s false. Sasuke has retired from battle. The couple wanted fertile land, so…. they came here. They want to make a new life away from war. I know it sounds—.” 

The man stopped. There were fifteen of them in total, surrounding the spy. He must have felt their oppressive glares. He shifted against the tree bark looking anxiously at his throat. Danma’s growl had the depth of an ocean and the sharpness of a spear. He jerked the weeping man roughly and ensured their eyes were locked. 

“You lie!” 

At this point the spy’s body failed him. He squirmed frantically. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but little came out. His talk was as incoherent as it was painful to watch. Hakuro looked on. 

“I’m sorry. I fear for my life, I never meant to lie. Please, let me tell you more. Just don’t kill me!” 

Danma’s kunai was lodged against his throat. A wet trail ran down as he eased his blade away. 

“Talk, dog. Last chance.” 

“Yes, OK. There is a new alliance, an Uchiha-Sarutobi pact just formalised. Other clans will join, but I only know of the two. Lord Sasuke knew Hashirama would be near this camp and planned accordingly. Together, the new allies plan to launch an attack. The host is still massing and there are Uchiha yet to come.” 

“So, there are more? Lead by who?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You _don't_? How do I know you aren’t lying even now?” 

“I swear on my life it’s true. The aim was to capture Hashirama unawares and kill him. To end a new war before it could truly begin. To end the Senju threat.” 

His speech was breathless and after he burst into a desperate sob. Hakuro looked at Kirima. There was no expression on her slender face, her mouth was a taut line. 

“Please, that is the truth. That is all I know, on the Sage and His sons.” 

The gruff sensei slacked his grip on the kunai. There were more sobs and words muttered that Hakuro could not pay heed to. It was so much harder than he thought. The other children bragged about seeing their first killings. Was this what they enjoyed? _The man is pathetic and miser_ able, Hakuro thought. _There is no pride in killing him_. 

Danma called two men forth Hakuro did not recognise, burly brutes with a swift step. 

“He is no use alive.” Danma unsheathed his blade; it was slender and curved, made of castle-forged steel. It had deadly elegance and a ruby-encrusted hilt. The other two dragged the spy to a chopped stump on the ground. He had no chance to resist, his fate was sealed. Danma Sensei raised his katana high and the blade drank sunlight. 

“In the name of Lord Hashirama, Head of the Senju Clan and my master, I pronounce you dead. Have you any last words of honour.” 

The man’s face turned so pallid he looked dead already. He scanned all the people around him and eventually his eyes landed on Hakuro. They were so wide, stretched to an inhuman size. He let out a shrill cry that made Hakuro’s hairs stand. 

“My life—” 

The two men pushed down so he could not squirm and Danma arched two clean hits on the neck. A third, and Hakuro saw the head of the man roll to the ground. It stopped at Shiritama’s feet who laughed and spat down. Shiritama was a youth of fifteen, lithe and dark-haired, who found a joke in everything. Blood poured in the grass smearing crimson on ivy. Danma wiped his wet hands against his tunic. 

“We are done here; our mission is complete but there may be others. Best not to tarry here. Move!” 

The journey back to the village felt cold. Hakuro leapt in the cover of leaves with trees blurring past him. He jumped onto the next branch and crouched down. He clutched his stomach; he could feel a build-up in his belly. A blink later Kirima was beside him and held his shoulder tight. 

“You were brave, Hakuro. I am proud of you, but you don’t have to pretend anymore. Let it out.” 

Hakuro obliged and leapt to the ground. A stream of thick green bile emerged from his mouth and he licked his dry lips. He shouldn’t be like this; he was too grown to act like a child. Blood and death were the natural order of the world. Yet, he couldn’t shake the queasy feeling he felt when he locked eyes with the man. A man about to meet the Sage. His sister helped pat the last of it out. He was still uneasy but strong enough to stand. Hakuro leant against an oak for support. 

“Kirima, why did that man have to die?” 

She blinked in confusion; to her there was no ambiguity about the necessity for the death. 

“Any enemy to the Senju warrants death unto themselves. Besides, he was also a traitor.” 

“A traitor?” The word struck. 

“He forsook his loyalty to Sasuke Sarutobi. He told us the truth hoping to cling to his life. A ninja who values himself over the good of his family is not fit to live. Our shinobi values are what make us better than animals, he broke those.” 

“But he told so we would know more. He helped us, sister.” 

She cocked a brow. “So, what are you saying, Kuro?” 

Hakuro didn’t know what he getting at in truth. It just didn’t feel right to murder a man who helped them. 

“We could have… kept him hostage.” 

Kirima shook her head, her long black hair swaying. “No, not with the amount of knowledge he had. What if he ran back and told the Sarutobi? Our mission would have been fruitless. He had to die, Kuro.” 

“I see,” Hakuro said, but he still didn’t understand. 

Kirima frowned and raised his head. “Come on, Kuro. This was meant to be a happy day for you. Your first mission means you are a man and now you have seen Danma Sensei killing, you know how to do it yourself.” 

Hakuro thought on that. The only way to grow used to death was to see it until it didn’t hurt. He supposed that was his next phase in his training, the next phase in his path as a true shinobi. Hakuro smiled weakly. 

“I suppose.” 

“Kirima, Hakuro! Where are you, Danma Sensei is seething. You need to get here fast.” 

They looked up and heard footfalls among the trees. It was the familiar voice of Shiritama. He came leaping with an excited look on his face. “You two need to hurry, you won’t believe it. Just further up, we found something _big_.” 

Scattered around the undergrowth and twigs were a cache of valuables. They were almost certainly Sarutobi. Routed maps, sharpened kunai, gleaming swords and armour placed in small wooden strongboxes. All around there were dried red splotches on the ground and a flag bearing a clan symbol was covered in dirt. A kunoichi spoke first. 

“Where did these come from?” 

“We didn’t see them on our way here before, they must have been recently abandoned,” Shiritama added. Hakuro looked around. The other boxes were slightly broken and they looked light enough to carry by one person. 

“They probably belonged to that man and he must have dropped them during your pursuit, Sensei,” Hakuro said. Danma looked at him and smirked. 

“Yes, that would explain one but not the others. Were there any more shinobi with him? Another allied clan, perhaps,” Danma held up the dirty flag. “This is the symbol of the Inuzuka, there could be some of them prowling the forest.” 

“There were no others when we got here. They might have sensed us coming,” Kirima said. 

“Or the sneaky bastards _sniffed_ us out, Sensei,” Shiritama said. 

“Well, all this would add credence to what the dead man said. They were probably scouting beforehand to get a good idea of the terrain,” the old man rubbed his chin. “There is still work to do. We need to see if we can find anything we might have missed. Look around and return here when you are finished.” 

With that they went off and searched. 

Leaping around the surrounding area confirmed what the group all but knew. This seemed to be the site of a previous Senju-Sarutobi skirmish, the signs were tell-tale. Bloodied armour, dulled swords and bodies. Lots of bodies deep in the forest where the thick of battle was. They fought but lost and now these lands were Senju. The region had no Sarutobi left, only their remains. 

Hakuro was heading back to the gathering spot when he heard a noise; it was a sharp cry. _Kirima?_ Imagining the worst, he leapt in the direction he heard it and leapt down. The undergrowth was thick in these parts and the trees seemed to clash to form a shadowy green canopy. Hakuro walked with caution as he advanced scanning his surroundings. That was when _it_ leapt out. 

Teeth bared with a frantic look in its eyes, the animal growled and stalked to the lonely ninja. Hakuro held his hand in front of it, whatever it was. He’d never seen anything of the like; bristling red and black fur with eyes like gold, it looked so gentle. It had to be the tiniest thing he had seen, too. _I can’t just leave something_ _like_ _this here_ , he thought. Hakuro smiled and approached it cautiously. 

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “I’m a friend. Friend, see?” 

He was close enough to touch so he stroked its back gingerly. It seemed to be calm despite its wild looks. Reaching for his pouch he produced a piece of bread. It had gone stale but it was all he had. The animal chewed and the growling stopped. It was small enough for him to carry so he knelt down and cradled it in his arms. _I suppose you want more, huh?_ It nibbled contentedly at the food offered and licked Hakuro’s face. _It seems I’ve made a new friend. I wonder what I’ll call_ _it_ _._

The others were gathered near the cache. Hakuro knew they would be upset at his tardiness. When he dropped down their looks of frustration shifted to fury. The sound of scraping steel rang loud. 

“Wild Ninken!” 

“Kuro, drop it now!” 

“Sis, it’s not what you think,” he stroked the animal’s mane trying to temper it. Hakuro could feel its belly rumble. The others were having none of it. Danma Sensei surged forth and his blade flashed in the light. 

“Are you mad, boy? Did you not hear your sister? Drop the beast, Kuro. It’s Inuzuka, no good.” 

“He’s not a beast, he’s mine,” Hakuro blinked furiously. “I won’t let anyone harm him. Not even you, Sensei. You’ll have to cut us both down if you want it!” 

Danma froze. Hakuro was blinking back a sea of tears and clutched the wolf-fox by his chest. Shiritama stepped in front of Danma his hands wide and his face genial. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. This has gotten far enough. We’ve already lost too many Senju, let’s not kill each other now. Personally, Sensei, I don’t see the harm in keeping the runt.” 

Hakuro’s face flickered and he looked at Shiritama who stared at his bundled arms. _He_ _is my_ _only hope_. Shiri must have felt his eyes, he turned back to Danma who looked viciously at both of them. The blade was still raised. 

“Sensei, it won’t be an issue. Besides, Hakuro won’t keep it for long; we know he isn’t capable. Let him prove us wrong. He feeds the pup, washes it, keeps it fit. He can milk it, even. Just leave it be.” 

“It’s a wild animal. It could be dangerous,” Kirima said. 

“Does it look dangerous?” Shiritama pointed to the little creature, now sleeping despite the tension. 

Kirima softened. “Well, I don’t want that in our home, Hakuro. Do you understand?” 

“I don’t care, I'll sleep outside with it. I’ll feed it, I’ll milk it, I’ll do anything.” 

One of the burly men laughed. “Damn, kids. Let him go, Danma. If it does anything we’ll cut it first chance we get.” 

There was a long pause. Everyone was still and quiet except the little wolf’s silent growls. Danma Sensei sheathed his blade. “Keep up, Hakuro. I won’t wait behind.” 

In a flash he leapt away and the others followed. Shiritama turned and winked before jumping into the air. Hakuro held his new pet tight and they made their way back home together. 

The recon group skipped through branches. Their route was short and lead them to the banks of the river Hiroi, south of a huge mountain range. On an outcrop the bright world opened from the dimness of the forest. Rolling hills ran abound and in the backdrop a mountain loomed like a sleeping giant. Hakuro was home again. Outsiders called it a village, but it was more of a town. In the shadow of towering trees were buildings of wood and stone. Their slated roofs of thatch turned gold in the sun. A sea of tents of all hues lay outside the town’s wooden palisade. Crowning the settlement from a lofty spike was a Senju banner, limping against the wind. 

Walking through the gates the thrum of life awakened; children ran through mule trampled roads, traders screamed their wares in the open to passers-by. The familiar scents of hot pastries left Hakuro’s mouth watery. 

Past the forges where steam billowed and smiths bellowed, the group made their way to the Senju headquarters. It was as strong a fastness as any of the Fire Daimyo, carved naturally into a jutting outcrop over the river. Danma reported their findings and the others heaved the boxes into the chamber. A square-faced senior commander looked at the bounty with a smile. He clapped Danma heartily on the shoulder, who didn’t know how to react other than to snarl. They spoke a little more until Danma was dismissed. 

“Leave now, but don’t be away too long. I want you back here in an hour we still have more to do. Our findings were big and the commanders want to declare a meeting soon... ” 

Hakuro was half listening, half playing with his new red-furred friend. He ran off when dismissed—but not before customarily bowing before his sensei. Donning his simple woollen tunic Hakuro already knew where to go. 

Just beyond the town lay the riverbank. The sounds of laughter and splashing persisted here, where play was rampant and lively. It was a good place away from missions. It was also where he found Butama Senju. Both boys were the same age, born a day apart. Already he stood four feet with a lazy tumble of black curls. He was running from Hakuro as he chased him with his new pet by his heels. Before long they were sat in the shade huffing after a good exercise. 

“That’s a nice... dog, Hakuro,” Butama gasped. “I don’t know how they let you keep a wild ninken.” 

Hakuro grinned. “Shiri did all the work. He convinced Danma Sensei that I couldn’t do it. It worked better than I could imagine.” 

“Are you actually going to take care of it, or will your sister have another mouth to care for?” 

Hakuro frowned. “I’ll do it like I said I would. Besides, it can’t be that hard. It seems like a smart pup.” 

“Has it got a name? You can’t just call it ‘ _It’_ forever.” 

“Hmm, not really. Maybe I should ask sis.” 

“Where is she and my brother?” 

Hakuro grinned. “She’s tried to find a new hiding spot away from the town, but I know where she is. Come on.” 

Near the rear gate of the town, through a stream Hakuro led Butama up a grassy hill. Silently, they followed the path he’d memorized through dense foliage. Kirima wasn’t looking, but one day Hakuro had managed to sneak up on her whilst she and Shiri were off training. She thought the two were alone and Hakuro would have stayed had he not been too afraid. Today he had Butama, though. 

Now he could see his sister and Shiritama sat close together. The grass was emerald and the overlapping trees formed a wide barrier from the sun. Hakuro looked playfully at Butama and the boy nodded in comprehension. They snuck through hidden by grass, quiet as can be, and sprang up on their siblings. 

Kirima and Shiritama shot up like arrows. 

“What are you doing here, Kuro?” she was hot in the face. “Shouldn’t you be off playing with your little dog or whatever?” She sounded slightly flustered and shifted into a seated position. 

“I want to stay with you. We need to come up with a name for it.” 

Shiritama and Kirima gave each other a tired look, then she sighed. 

“OK, fine. I guess.” 

Hakuro whooped and tackled her aground as she sat. He had always seen the four of them as a family. Kirima was his blood sister, but Shiritama and Butama were the brothers he didn't have. Shiri could be an ass too, (as Danma Sensei would say), but he was the only one who defended him when the other kids had mean ideas. Hakuro would always love him for that. 

The foursome lay sprawled on the grass picking through names. Hakuro didn’t think he could be so demanding but all the names offered just didn’t feel right. He’d hoped at least one person could come up with a good one. 

“Goku,” Butama suggested. 

“No,” Hakuro replied. 

“Kamu,” Kirima added 

“No.” 

“Kirā,” Shiritama tried. 

“ _No_.” 

Kirima giggled. 

Shiritama eyed Hakuro as he lay. “Hey, on the topic, Kuro, you remember that Sarutobi? Oh, the way his head fell off. The way he begged for his _life_ ,” Shiri laughed. 

“Oh, you saw one. How was it?” 

“I was watching him, little brother. There was no colour in his face at all and he looked away too. Hmm,” Shiritama sat up and shot a questioning glance. “You… you weren't scared, were you, Kuro?” 

“No,” Hakuro lied. He was terrified. 

“Shiri, what are you doing?” 

“I'm just saying, Kirima. He looked a bit pale when he saw the head roll off. He might have been scared, might have thought his headless body would rise from the _dead_!” 

Butama clutched his stomach and rolled in laughter. Shiritama turned to see the ninken growl deeply. Hakuro raised his voice. 

“I'm telling you I _wasn't_. It was just my first time. Stop it, Shiri.” 

“Oh heavens, you absolutely were. You're almost a man, Kuro. You can't be scared of a man's insides-ow!” 

“Shiri, stop it. It's not funny anymore,” Kirima looked at him with a stern expression. 

Shiritama held his hands up. “I was just joking. He knew that I was joking. But then again, it would fit in with what my bro was saying about you.” 

Hakuro's eyes widened. Butama cocked his head looking at Hakuro then his brother. “What?” 

Kirima eyed him and grinned. Hakuro probed for answers. “What did Butama say?” 

Shiri shrugged. “Well, I wouldn't want to upset you again. It's really not a big deal, ignore me,” he whistled nonchalant. Hakuro leapt up like a hare. He shook Shiri and glared into his eyes. It did the trick. 

“Alright, alright, I give. Between me and you, he says his Water Dragon is way better than yours. Incomparable, really.” 

He wouldn't have said that. Water wasn't even Butama’s natural element. It was the technique of Lord Tobirama, mightiest ninja in the world. Hakuro was personally devoted to learning the jutsu of his idol. There was no way Butama beat him to it. Still, Hakuro wasn't going to let a slight go unpunished. 

He gave Butama a glance. Butama shrugged. 

“I never said it, but it is true, Hakuro. I mean, my ninjutsu is way better than yours and you know it.” 

That was all he needed. He shot up pointing a finger at his friend. “Prove it, then. On the Waterfield.” 

Both boys dashed away leaving their siblings behind. It was time to head back to the Waterfield. That was where the two played, relaxed and battled; their most exciting duels took place there. Butama as Ashura, Hakuro as Hamura. It was away from the other children in a small, shallow pool. The perfect field for battle where neither took the elemental vantage point,. 

Now they were both ankle-deep in the wading water. They stared intensely at each other preparing for their showdown. 

“I’ll go first,” Hakuro declared. He was the one proving himself, after all. He knew the task before him. It was a jutsu even the older boys had a hard time mastering, one that took complete focus. Danma Sensei said he had the potential to be a danger, where it not for his lack of chakra control. That required focus, which was Hakuro’s foil. Now, he wouldn’t let anything get to him. 

The Water Dragon required twenty-three hand signs to cast properly, a trial in itself. Hakuro memorised them sometimes before going to bed and made it into a song. He was humming it to himself as he readied his chakra. The warmth coursed through his body, his arms, his fingertips. Hakuro raised his hands. 

Hakuro closed his eyes visualising the signs and he sung. _“_ _Ox, Monkey, Hare, Rat, Boar, Bird, Ox, Horse.”_

His hands moved rapidly, almost independent. All forty-four seals seemed to be streaming through his mind into his hands. 

_“Dragon, Bird, Ox, Horse, Ram, Tiger, Serpent.”_

He was deeper into the sequence and he felt confident. He could feel his chakra building with each word. 

_“Ox, Monkey, Bird, Rat, Ram, Dragon!”_

Hakuro had fallen before he could realise. 

_“Water Release: Water Dragon Bullet!”_

A wave of chakra emitted and sent the water beneath his feet soaring. Hakuro lost his balance and fell back onto the ground. A wave washed over him bathing him in its cold embrace. Instead of a dragon, the water jumped and rained down on him. _No, I was so close!_ What went wrong? Was it the control, the amount he released? Did he not have enough chakra? Hakuro knew he should have trained more with Kirima. What a stupid, rookie mistake. 

Just as he was beating himself up, Butama’s voice added insult to injury. 

“Oh, good one. You scared me, you know? I almost thought you could pull it off,” he leapt into the stream. His hands were together. 

“Now, watch and learn.” 

Butama stepped into the Waterfield. His hands moved as a rapid blur, but each sign was coordinated. Hakuro could the same seals he memorised. Where did he go wrong? He got his answer as Butama finished the jutsu sequence. 

_“Ox, Monkey, Bird, Rat, Ram, Bird! Water Style: Water Dragon Bullet!”_

Winding to the sky the water took the form and snaked into a dragon form. It was long and swirly like a snake, with horns and pointed teeth. Without hesitation the dragon crashed before Hakuro and launched him off his feet. He landed with a thud on his back; the pain raced up his spine and he yelled out. 

“Don’t whine, I wasn't even trying, Hakuro.” 

Butama released the jutsu and everything went back to normal. The banks of the stream were soggy and Hakuro got wet mud on his trousers. He was soaked to the skin and the chill made his shiver. Spitting out some water he looked at Butama with narrowed eyes. 

“Liar,” he said wiping mud of his palms and shaking his soggy tunic. “Don’t be proud for too long. I only slipped up once, everything else was perfect. When I master that jutsu, you’ll regret ever challenging me. That’s a promise, you hear me,” he raised his voice and pointed at his friend. “A _promise,_ I’ll make sure to—” 

“Hakuro, heavens almighty!” 

He had heard his name a lot, but hearing it now made his hair stand. He turned around to see whose shadow it was. He should have known. Danma has his head in his palm. 

“Didn't I tell you? I needed you to return later on. Damn, look at you.” 

He gave Butama an evil glance and pulled Hakuro up. 

“Not even the Sage could talk sense to you. Had your fun, have you? Well hurry up because you're needed.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, _you_ and your sister, wherever she is. As my students and companions in the field, your presence is required. You're a man now, Hakuro. Start acting like one.” 

Danma looked him up and down, his face contorted in disgust. 

“Now pat yourself dry and move your arse. We don't want to keep Lord Hashirama waiting.” 

Inside, the hall was packed with shinobi and the place was brilliantly lit. It was a finely furnished room, with scrolls in niches, statues and lamps that hung on the wall. Hakuro jerked at his tunic. It clung to him like sap and every time he pulled it got worse. He kept on anyway. 

“Stop, Kuro. Seriously.” 

Hakuro glared up. “It’s annoying, though.” 

“You are being a pest. If you didn’t want this, maybe you shouldn’t have played with water. Gods you are dull sometimes.” 

“But you’re the one who told me to go. Besides, you’re just upset because of Danma Sensei. You hate when he berates you and you knew going too far from town was wrong.” 

“That’s enough, Hakuro. I mean it.” 

There was no use in arguing back when his sister had that look. He crossed his arms and huffed in defeat, but still defiant. He would have to ignore the dampness even though the more he thought of it, the more it annoyed him. Then, all voices hushed. A burst of wind flowed into the room and all eyes turned to the large entrance doors. Hakuro saw how everyone stood and genuflected then hastily followed them. His sister gave him a side eye that could cut metal. Her face seemed to say _“Behave yourself, Kuro_ ”. He bowed his head. When they rose, he did and that’s when he saw who entered. 

Sat at the head of a raised table was Lord Hashirama. He wore a simple yukata and a wide kasa. On his right was Lord Tobirama Senju in an indigo elaborate kimono. Hakuro tried to contain his smile. Lean and fierce, he looked like every true shinobi should. A calm demeanour that carried a fierce aura. 

At the Clan Head’s left sat a refined looking lady with a pair of red-headed youths. It was probably Lady Mito Uzumaki, a kunoichi from the island nation of the east that Kirima spoke highly of. She had a tall, regal poise and a golden tiara woven in her hair. She looked more like the princesses Hakuro had heard of in the south. He found himself inexorably drawn to her. 

Hashirama rose and looked down from the raised platform. 

“Please, be seated,” he said. 

Everyone in the room followed suit and sat down in the wooden tables arrayed within. Their attention was still affixed on Hashirama who sat down and spoke further. 

“Much has happened for the Senju and it all seems to be good news. The reconnaissance missions of the morning, headed by Danma-san have yielded frightful news. The Sarutobi are near and they are not alone.” 

The words got audible discord in the room and there were excited mutters. 

Lord Tobirama took the reins. “Yes, Sasuke has an Uchiha bride and is poised for attack. Not a day’s ride out with further numbers. We have adequate troops for their current forces but not a full assault. However, we have the grace of foresight. They plan to attack with a full force in two weeks but we won’t give them a week.” 

Hashirama motioned to Danma who sat near the centre of the hall as denoted his middling rank. Hakuro sat near the rear of the room, but he was close enough to see the old sensei’s features change. He stood and saluted the Clan Head. 

“Danma-san, do you know who is currently leading this Uchiha contingent?” 

“I believe that would be unknown, my lord. The Sarutobi spy was not that informed, apparently. I believe it could be a major commander, however, given the nature of their alliance and attack.” 

Now Hakuro heard those familiar and feared names. 

_Izuna, Madra._ Hakuro swallowed. 

“No matter, you still know the direction of the village and the safest route,” Hashirama continued. “I want you and your team, in an act of goodwill, to head to the village and await Lord Sasuke, if he isn’t there. Tell him we know of his plans and declare there will be a pitched battle in the field before the week is over. Let him know—” 

“Lord Hashirama!” 

Tobirama’s voice cut like steel. Danma stood astounded. Kirima gave Hakuro another side glance, even she was baffled. 

Tobirama cleared his throat. “Clan Head, I believe there is little use in letting him know our intel. This should be covert. We cannot waste the only advantage we have.” 

“Lord Tobirama is right, dear,” Lady Mito added, “though our clan numbers are low, we still have enough force to fan this Uchiha-Sarutobi flame if done the smart way.” 

There was a pause. The advisors had said their arguments but the decision was left with the leader. Hashirama was still for a moment then looked at the table; his ostensibly deep reflections culminated in a “I see.” 

Pleased with the answer Tobirama resumed. “The attack is imminent but it must wait. There is another matter of importance that must be settled first, to give us full strength. My young nephew is betrothed to the Hyūga princess. Danma, I am certain you know their dwelling quite well?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“I thought as much. The Hyūga have always been ambivalent where our interests are concerned. Intermittent wars with the Uchiha have made them quick enemies, and any enemy of the Uchiha is our ally. An escort is required on the journey to Castle Hyūga where our alliance will be sealed. Young Muzo will be adopted by there, as is customary, and in exchange we will receive a dowry and sufficient manpower. Only then can we make our final attack. Danma-san, I am trusting you and your team for this.” 

“It would be an honour, my lord,” Danma bowed in deference and was permitted to sit. There was a fervent buzz of excitement and anticipation that permeated like a fog. It had been years since the last war, no doubt there were many eager to prove themselves in battle. This time Hakuro would get to join in the fighting too. Danma Sensei’s new responsibility meant a new adventure. 

Hakuro could not deny he was extremely excited. 

The day wound to a still, cool darkness. With the working day finished Hakuro and Kirima headed home. A squat building of wood, it was enclosed within a small gate. Inside the crude furnishings a pot hung above the hearth spreading the strong scent of mint tea. It was poor but it was home. 

Brother and sister sat in the garden against a beech. Hakuro could see the sun descending beneath the horizon, with trees reaching up like twisted hands in the deep purple skies. 

“You have to be fit for tomorrows journey, Hakuro. Go to sleep.” 

Kirima nudged him and tried to make him leave but Hakuro shrugged her off. He pressed himself against her. 

“I want to stay with you. Just a little longer.” 

Her sigh admitted her defeat. She wrapped an arm around him and stroked his back. Hakuro smiled and nestled into her chest. He felt sheepish for admitting it to himself, but he liked Kirima’s motherly embrace. It was warm. 

He felt a moist friction against his ankle. Looking down he could see his new pet licking gleefully and his tail wagging furiously. _I still haven’t named him_ , Hakuro realised. He couldn’t keep it nameless like Butama said. It had to have meaning, though. It had to connect with his deepest desires, that evoked joy whenever it was said. A name that would kindle his greatest hopes. 

“Kiri.” 

“Yes?” 

I’ve got one,” Hakuro chirped. 

“Got what?” 

“A name, one that is special and means something. Kibou,” Hakuro smiled. “I want to call him Kibou. It’s something I can cherish.” 


	3. Sijo I

* * *

** SIJO I **

* * *

The fires started in the west. Leaping flames danced around like girls dressed in red. The wooden homes sparked like kindling at the first touch. Sijo saw them faintly through a shuttered window.

Then the screams came.

Inhuman noises rang aloud in the death throes of  Hegori village. Sijo thought it was some nightmare until he felt a hand jerk his shoulder. He shot up from his pallet blinking the sleep away but it was the screaming that fully roused him. He looked to his parents. His father was packing things into a sack strapped to him and his mother was shaking his sister.

“Mama, what is happening?” His hear began to pound. The first pangs of fear began to form.

“No time, son.”

He jumped to his feet and together the family dashed from their home.

Nothing made sense and it terrified him. Sijo saw people scurrying from their homes and cries of “Ninja” was all that was said. The woods sometimes caught fire in hot summers; Sijo would gather water from the river to douse them. This was a behemoth and it seemed to expand. It was as if the shadows attacked, Sijo saw nothing but flame. Now, he ran with a group of others north of the village. Ahead were the stone walls of the Shoya and the tall tower. Ahead was safety.

Until they came.

Casting diminutive shadows as they leapt, there were men clad in armour. The armour was dark and those that were leaping over had malice on their faces. Sijo felt scared, he was trembling as he saw them pass. Who were these people? He’d never seen people who could jump so high, so they couldn’t be samurai. It couldn’t have been the daimyo’s forces either. Who then? It was a question Sijo felt he would never get after seeing what the men were actually doing.

Blurred silhouettes flashed across the sky as the mass of people ran through the village. Sijo thought the peril was behind but it seemed to have caught up. Then the formless shapes solidified and Sijo saw one of them crouched atop a roof. His cuirass was glinting, an ornate sword belt wrapped around his hips and he wore a white headband. Sijo turned away from the man for a second, and when he turned  back, he was gone. Finally, they reached the huge oaken doors... but they were sealed. Banging against the door the others screamed and Sijo could do little but join them. His heart sank. Were they going to die here? Where was their leader?

The others pleaded to no avail they were alone. When the armoured men leapt above them, many sank to their knees. Standing on the castle walls. Their hands moved in a blur, it looked as if they were doing one motion they were so fast. Words were said then there were more flames. A large spherical flame crashed and burned the tower and toppled it to the ground. Screams erupted from inside. The other attackers did their hand movements and fire breathing and blew into the castle compound. Fire came out of their breaths like they were dragons from the songs.

The villagers turned back to the  Hegori . Anywhere to escape.

Their rampage continued. The men leapt from the roofs and jumped into the village to slice and break through the helpless people. Beyond him there were others. These people wore black steel and rode big warhorses that snorted. They wore masks of demons.  _ Just like the samurai _ , Sijo realised.  _ So then why were they fighting with these people? _

Sijo trailed behind his father and he breathed in quick gasps. They were running to the riverbank where they would ferry themselves across the river. Tears were flowing down Sijo’s eyes freely now. It was no use holding them back. His heart was beating so fast and hard he felt it was likely to burst out. His lungs were little and he couldn’t take so much running, but he knew what the alternative was.

“Almost there, son. We are almost at safety where the Temple is,” his mother tried to assure him, her sandals flapping against the earth. Only, when they reached the temple, they saw it heat and topple to the ground. The crowd screamed they were helpless. What were they to do now?

His mother sank to the ground. She stopped any act of  strength and wailed loudly. His father looked around frantically. Sijo was crying too and his sister was.

“Stop that,” his father said, eyes red and his voice raw. “Stop  crying , woman!”

“There is not point, we are dead. Dead, Kise,” she struggled between tears. Sijo felt the salty tears against his lip; he screamed so loud he didn’t even know if there would be any voice left.

“All of you stop it. We will find a way. Get up we have to run.”

“Where? Where is an escape?”

His father’s fists were clenched. He scanned the area hopeful to find something. His mouth opened and closed. He couldn’t say  anything , he was lost like they all were.

“We can—”

Before an answer came a figure snapped into existence. A sword tip punched through the old man’s throat, blood dripping from the edge. Sijo saw his father’s last moments. His eyes were wide and white and his gagged before slumping to the ground. Sijo was frozen his eyes locked onto his father’s still body. When he looked up, he saw  the man preparing to kill them too. Then fate intervened.

He looked to the east where some villagers were charging. They had weapons too, clubs, sharpened sticks, hoes and knives. The killer leapt to them instead. Try as they might they were outmatched. Alone the killer was able to slay with ease, with his  companions the bodies fell by the second. Sijo felt an arm grab him.

“Hurry,” his mother’s face was stone.

Together the three sprinted. His sister struggled to keep up. They hid inside a building licked by fire and crumbling. Inside the coppery smell overwhelmed all senses. Sijo’s mother kneeled beside a body. She covered herself in dirt and blood and commanded the siblings to stay still. She wiped blood over their faces. The wet touch was sickening. They lay beside the body and waited.

Others had the idea to run near that area. That only made them targets. The ninja came and started the killing near where Sijo lay. In the corner of his eye, he saw bodies fall, limbs fall off and a sea of blood begin to emerge. When the fighting came inside, he fought every urge to move. He felt flecks of blood cover his face. He was crying internally.

He lay for so long. There were men inside talking and moving about. Sijo heard a footstep. It was so loud his body shook and he yelped. He could have cried. When the footsteps neared, he knew he made a grievous error. There were two of them in dull armour. They passed over Sijo and he felt a relief, but then his heart dropped as they stood over his mother.

“It was this wench, I think.”

He saw a hand touch his mother’s arm. He prayed she would stay still, long enough to dispel their doubts.  Instead, she shuddered.

“She’s alive!”

The roar made Sijo gasp. One of the men grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up. She screamed and fought back, biting and kicking. Sijo could see his sister tearing up; he put a finger over his mouth.  _ Please,  _ he mouthed. A blow to the face ended her struggle. A few more silenced her completely. Sijo saw his mother’s face well up and blood fell in waves. Her lips were cracked, blue and puffy by the time he was done. All she did was give a faint groan.

“Could have kept her face nice, at least.”

“I like ‘ em bloody.” The man’s grin made his stomach turn. Sijo saw his mother being dragged by the hair into another room. It was too much to see.

Sijo leapt up and cried out. “You won’t take my mother!” He ran to the man dragging his mother and punched him on the neck.

“Fucking whelp!”

The man rounded on Sijo and his eyes were wide. “I’ll teach this one.”

“No, please,” his sister yelled. The other man was already on her and wailing away.

Sijo felt a fist crack against his jaw. He was knocked to the ground and not given any chance to rise. A flurry of punches followed. It felt like his skull was cracking, blood was smeared all over the man’s fist. Sijo’s weeping did little to help him. All Sijo could see was a blurry red haze.

It was hard to breathe. Heavy fists. There were noises. Steel. Screams. Would it end? Why did he have to die like this? Each punch smacked Sijo’s head against the ground. Everything was fuzzy now. Sijo was so tired. He wanted to sleep, he wanted it to end.

So, he let the beating continue.

Something hot and heavy pressed down. Sijo could just about move his arms. Everything was dark. Reaching around he felt a wet surface and grabbed hold. As he tugged harder, he felt something loose and wet come out. Just a little more pushing and he was free. The body rolled away. Sijo looked at the pool of bodies in the small room. Then it all came back.

The massacre, the superhuman bandits, the samurai. Once Sijo waded through the bodies into open air he coughed. It was so constrictive in there and the first gush of fresh air felt so good. Once he became accustomed to breathing, he gasped. Turning left and right he scanned the village. Or what was left. Bodies lined the roads; buildings were black and crooked and the air was thick with the smell of iron and dung. The congealed bodies gave off a warmth but when he touched them, they were so cold. Sijo was crying again.

“Mother!”

He looked inside trying to find her. All the bodies were bloody and bruised. How could he hope to find her?

“Father!”

If he couldn’t find his mother, his father would come to help. He would find his sister. Outside he searched the wreckage of buildings burnt and bodies scattered. No good. he ran to the river. It choked with bodies and jutting bits of wood. Sijo could barely control his body. He stood on the riverbank looking to the wooded horizon on the other side.

“I am the only one,” he breathed. An external force seized him and he fell onto his knees. He dug his nails into the ground, a pain spreading across his body. He screamed until his throat was raw and the world faded to black.

  


“The roads are rough here but we are nearly there. Though, you could always turn back if you like?” the man asked sardonic.

“No, I think not.”

A cackle. “More fool you, old man.” He turned to his clansmen and they shared a laugh together. The mood was ill-fitted for such a day. There was a steady eastern breeze and the faint touch of sunlight kept the Elder warm. The steady and measured hoofbeats of the horses were rhythmic and calming.

_ Why do I wish to be with such foul company? _ It was a question that was multifaceted and the Elder did not really have an answer. Perhaps Sijo might. It might have started when he was a boy, though that was decades ago. Or maybe it started in the scrivener's hall, so full of narratives of ancient emperors, the gods and mythical tales, yet bereft of ninja and  Ninshu . The enemy people, the people of the shadows who practised magic and martial arts. A people of intrigue. Perhaps this was why  Sijo sought to know about these shinobi.

His journey started at the daimyo’s court. It took a good pleading and a great deal of time, but he was granted the permission required. His years with the man he saw as a second father paid off. A retinue of samurai accompanied him to these men so he could travel with them whilst he recorded  _ Travels _ . That was the name of the manuscript lodged into his saddle bag and waiting to be filled with newfound information. The type he needed to get in person as no others had. Indeed, his literary predecessors feared these people. The only notes they had of these ninjas were their avarice for gold and savageness to their foes. It was cautionary but not informative. Not the sort of thing that people would be able to connect with, never mind remember. That was where Sijo sought to reverse the line. It was the first time such an agreement was ever reached, these ninja agreed to hear his request, for a tale for posterity.

The sound of hooves permeated along with muted chatter. Sijo struggled controlling the horse. It was not his horse or that of the daimyo. It was a small and shaggy mountain pony supposedly ideal for the high and tricky northern roads. It proved nothing but an annoyance. Sijo had sat in the saddle for hours and it seemed to harden during that time. Now, it felt like he was sat on stone, the soreness in his arse making him have to shift every few minutes. It also was not the best riding situation. Setting off from the castle had been secure with fair winds and soft breezes. The northward path had made the weather bitter and wetter. Deep ruts had formed from the rains the night before soaking the ground His steed sloshed in the mud as they mounted the side of the hill. It took all Sijo’s effort to control the wild horse so it didn’t break lame itself.  _ Life with the daimyo has made me too used to comfort. I hope we arrive at the place soon _ , Sijo thought. Luckily, he would not have to wait long.

As the road progressed it narrowed and winded upwards. There was the distant smattering of voices. Sijo faced sunlight in his eyes as they rose upwards in single file. His pony sloshed as it wading through the mud. When the brightness dimmed and his eyes adjusted, Sijo saw the settlement emerge. Banners hung limp in the bright sky, each emblazoned with a fan, red and white. Wooden shields lined the bottom of a hill that rose up and wound across the plains like a giant snake rising from the ground. Atop it was the camp.

The group creaked through a bridge passing over a stream; Sijo earned the curious glares of a few men with poles in their hand. The clan banners hung from the erect poles that served as a gate. There were small girls and women with wooden buckets. kneeling and hauling them to large hung pots with rising smoke. The smell of wet straw clung from the roofs of simple homes, as did that of burning meat. All around there were walls of cloth, large jinmaku that sectioned the camp. Sijo passed a band of men clad in white robes with dark symbols; their staffs banged against the earth and they were singing songs of a distant sage.  _ They live in simple squalor and settle for little and less. These are the same people who terrorise us _ .

A wagon carted along with fat sacks of rice in the back. The men were bruised and bloody.  _ Plunder _ , Sijo thought grimly. Squat tents rose from the ground with the sounds of laughter and chatter in some and the moans of pleasure of others. Indeed, Sijo saw as he rode by some women clad only in skin and men with smiles. Penned donkeys, cows and other livestock stayed in one section; in another there was a boy practising archery, aiming for an archery butt and being outshot by a young dimple-chinned girl. This was another thing he rued. Children bred for war. It was a sight that struck him personally.

“The Clan Head is this way. The boys will take our  horse .” Sijo gladly left the pony to them. When they saw him however, he gave them a shock.

“His hair is so grey,” he heard one of the boys say. It was nothing he wasn’t used to at his age.

Sijo marched through crude wooden watchtowers until he was atop the hill overlooking the camp. In the distance he saw a looming black castle, with curving pointed roofs. Before him he saw a palace of bright silk, with two guards in red. It was ringed in  jinmaku , just outside were men sat around a trestle. Goblets and brimming pitchers surrounded a spread-out sheet. On it were figures carved as warriors and they seemed to be engaged in a game of war. As soon as Sijo’s travelling companions were before the seated men, they bowed low. Sijo did the same. Looking up he knew this man must have been their master. When he signalled them to rise Sijo got a good look of their Clan Head.

Even seated Fuzaki Uchiha was a head above the others and his eyes measured Sijo with indifference. Like most of his clansmen, the man’s eyes were dark, and his black hair reached just below his high collared tunic. Sijo kept a measured face.

“My lord, this is the scribe we received word of from the Fire daimyo.”

“Ah, our new companion,” one of them barked.

The Clan Head played another move, drank deep and looked at Sijo. “I see. We got word from the daimyo not long ago, along with some payment. You had a request I believe?”

“That much is correct,” Sijo replied.

“ Well, it would be rude to treat you in the air. Let us have this talk  inside , there is good sake. Might I interest you in a glass?”

The pavilion was blasted by the heat of a low fire pit. It seemed dangerous to have heat inside, but these men didn’t worry. The place was richly decorated and large. The Head assumed a sear at the head of large table. A map was spread out with writing. Beside him two other men stood still.

There were swords in open chests along with jewels and armour.

“Your request,” his voice was deep and clear.

“Well, my purpose is to record the deeds and history of humanity, as I have done for decades. To the essence of man words that can be seen by the people of the Land of Fire. No work is complete without the shinobi.”

The leader was silent for a moment then started to cackle. “Is that it, then? I see. Why?”

“The world deserves to know of the shinobi and their ways, what they are capable of. A despicable people you are, knowledge is the fruit of the learned. I seek to enrich the orchard of knowledge.”

He looked up with a still face and a serious expression. “You speak with such hostility. The daimyo mentioned your dislike of the shinobi.”

Sijo grimaced. “I have seen things... things no one should. They have marked me, damaged me. I know evil when I see it.”

“You hate us but want to sleep in our camp. That is  intriguing .”

“I can still learn much from my enemy,” Sijo retorted.

_ “Enemy?”  _ the Clan Head said it like it was an obscenity. A voice barked out.

“This old fool wishes to slight us, lord. I will silence him!”

Fuzaki raised a hand. The other man was silenced.

“You are my enemy?”

Sijo froze; his tongue had got him caught and did not know what to say. Instead, he stood stiff and waited for the Clan Head.

“No, you are mistaken. If you were my enemy, you would know it. Instead, I can make you my pet,” he smiled. The smile sent shivers down Sijo’s spine.

“Wh-what do you think of my proposition? Do you accept? If not, I would feel much safer in the company of my mount and heading to another clan.”

“I have a better question, why are you truly here? Most of your kind stay as far as they can get from us ninja, unless they have the security of treasure with them. Not you, though. That intrigues me the most.”

Sijo had to be  honest with himself, this was  something that went deeper than knowledge. It was something that touched his heart.

“My previous experiences with ninja were traumatic, an event that scarred me until now. My family, my village butchered by flying men and samurai. You won't understand, but I can never fully sleep. I dream of bloody children, broken swords and screams. It’s those that keep me up when others lie. The death throes of the village from accursed men. I’ll never forget or forgive you.” Sijo looked down; his knuckles were white and his fists were shaking.

“You have passion. The memories of the past cannot be shaken off. Such a sad story too, I mean it. So then, that begs the question why do this? You call them accursed, you speak with such hate,” the Clan Head stood. His full frame towered over Sijo and he looked down with a cool and steady gaze. “Do you hate me?”

“I do not hate you,” Sijo’s voice shook. “I seek to understand you. How can I dissect the mind of those who massacre without regard, with apathy? That is why I am here. I want to see man can become so corrupt.”

The Head’s eyes were wide. “My family? You will find no corrupt soul with the Uchiha. Everyone here serves their family. Why risk your life and work tirelessly for the worth of another? No, we are loyal to blood only as the advancement of the family rewards the clan. Even if it means death. You should take heed, scribe.”

“I serve the Fire daimyo with my heart; I would be dead if not for him. That is loyalty, serving those you believe in. The children outside have been indoctrinated. With the unity of the daimyos this way of life would be wiped and civilised. That is what  _ you  _ fear, sir. Civility, your away of life makes you king without consequence. If only we could unify, our power would wipe such an existence permanently.”

The Clan Head’s eyes still. “Is that what you think?”

His eyes, pinched and black, bled a bright crimson; spinning  tomoe materialised where nothing. The design was beautiful but felt fatal. Sijo was on his knees. The world was dark. There were drips of water pouring... no blood. Around him were fires, smoke, bodies. He trembled and rolled on the ground. He covered his ears but the noises only got louder. The sky was red.

“ _ Do you see what you fear? Is this futility for you? _

Sijo just wanted it to end, kill him if need be. Something needed to save him.  _ Not again _ .

“ _ You speak of power you will never realise. Only fools speak of falsehoods. Do well to never forget the Uchiha’s power.” _

The world was normal. Sijo was still on the ground tears covering his face. Was it a nightmare? He didn’t want to ever find out. He felt a thump against the ground that made him tremble and he saw his scrolls and papers.

“Keep your writings, scribe. You will be my personal servant. In this  time, you can write of the Uchiha clan and our histories for your people,” he laughed.

Sijo was lurched to his feet. The same people who led him in gave him contemptuous glares. He looked to the clan head and bowed deep.

“Thank you, my lord.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you've gotten this far, you must have loved it. Right?  
> I kid, but I appreciate anyone who read it all. Please leave any reviews (or kudos) if you did like it, and maybe some constructive criticism for the future.
> 
> Also, this might be on fanfic too, but I am not sure as I had issues with it. If you could, give it a look there too. Cheers!


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